


Fate, Fortune, and Oolong Tea

by courtingstars (FallingSilver)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Fate & Destiny, Friendship, Gen, Hugs, Nerdiness, Tea, Tea Nerds, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:05:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5091821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingSilver/pseuds/courtingstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For his seventeenth birthday, Midorima receives two miraculous gifts. He ponders how his life has changed, since his last troubled year at Teikou.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fate, Fortune, and Oolong Tea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madridistagoblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madridistagoblue/gifts), [secretninjagirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretninjagirl/gifts).



> This fic was originally posted on my Tumblr for Midorima's birthday. I was asked to repost it on Ao3, so here it is! I made a few line edits for this new version. For some notes about what inspired it, you can check out [the original fic on my Tumblr](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/124098315222/fate-fortune-and-oolong-tea-knb-fic). (You can also find links there with information about the gongfu steeping method, and about oolong tea in general.) Like before, this fic is dedicated to madridistagoblue, and also to the Midorima to her Akashi, secretninjagirl.

"Hey, Shin-chan, I have a problem."

Midorima sighed, and shifted his phone against his ear. “Yes. I would say that’s true. You have many of them, as a matter of fact.”

Takao’s laugh bubbled over the speaker. “Yeah, yeah. So listen. I brought you your all-important juice today, right?”

Midorima thought back to that morning. His lucky item for the day was fruit juice, which Takao had indeed obtained. Quicker than usual, now that he mentioned it. It was even the specific flavor Midorima had requested. At the time, Midorima had attributed this to the fact that it was his birthday. All his teammates had been unusually friendly, and they had even presented him with a cake after practice.

Midorima wasn’t much for that sort of attention, as a rule. But today it had been… Well, rather nice, actually.

“Yes, you did,” he said.

“Okay, well, I checked, and Scorpio’s lucky item for today is supposed to be oolong tea,” Takao said. “And I don’t have any. But you’re big on tea, right?”

Midorima blinked. He tapped his pencil against the textbook he had been reading. “Well… Yes.”

“So would you make me some, if I showed up at your place?”

For a moment, Midorima was silent. There was a part of him—an old part of him—that was tempted to say something cold and just hang up. Normally, Takao didn’t bother to find his own lucky item, so the request was suspicious at best. But as he thought back to a certain event that had taken place the previous Sunday, he found himself warming to the idea instead.

“This is just an excuse to invite yourself over, isn’t it?” was all he said out loud.

“What? Now, Shin-chan, why would you say something like that?” Takao said. Midorima could actually _hear_ the grin in his voice. It disturbed him that their relationship had progressed to the point that he could visualize all of Takao’s ridiculous expressions, even when they were just talking over the phone.

“I wonder,” he said dryly.

“Yeah, well, fire up your tea lantern or whatever it’s called, because I’m on my way.”

“Takao, tea warmers aren’t suitable for—” Before Midorima could finish his thought, the call disconnected.

He sighed and stood from his desk. He made his way to the kitchen, turning on a few lights as he went. Neither of his parents were home, and his sister was at a festival with friends. (It was Tanabata, after all. His family would probably write wishes on tanzaku paper together later that night, when everyone was home again.) They had all decided to formally celebrate Midorima’s birthday that weekend, so he didn’t mind being home alone. He had already received most of his presents at breakfast. Besides, it gave him a chance to get ahead on his schoolwork, in anticipation of the family gathering.

Or it had, until Takao invited himself over. But Midorima was choosing to rationalize this development as a well-earned break.

Upon entering the kitchen, Midorima opened one of the cabinets and rummaged through his tea supplies. They took up around a shelf and a half of space, including four different types of teapots, a glass pitcher, a set of small tea cups, and a row of labeled tins. One of these containers was new, with a golden label that displayed a few lines of strikingly elegant handwriting. Elegant, and familiar. Midorima took out the tin, and turned it over in his hand.

As he did, the memory of how he received it filled his mind.

* * *

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” Midorima said.

Akashi smiled, and rose from a park bench. Like Midorima, he was wearing casual clothes, since it was Sunday. A haze of clouds hung overhead, a typical sight in Japan during the rainy season. Akashi’s red hair looked even brighter than usual, in contrast to the gray weather.

“Not at all,” he said. “You were prompt, as always.”

Midorima couldn’t help marveling at the look on Akashi’s face. It still felt strange, to see him smile like that again. Freely, and with surprising warmth. Midorima said nothing about it out loud, however. The two of them strolled down the crowded Tokyo sidewalk, toward a hotel that towered among the other buildings.

“I should apologize,” Akashi said after a moment. “For taking up so much of your time, on your day off.”

“I don’t mind. And I’m not the one who had to take the bullet train from Kyoto.”

Akashi laughed, in his quiet way. “It only takes about two hours.”

“Still.”

Drops of rain began to fall, dotting the pavement. They took out their umbrellas—one green, and one red—and opened them. Midorima’s teammates at Shuutoku often asked why so many of the things Midorima owned were green. (His phone, for example.) He didn’t really know why. Sometimes his parents picked them out, but most of the time, he chose them on his own. It just felt right, somehow, to have things that were the same color as his family name. And for whatever reason, his former teammates at Teikou had often done the same thing. It had made it easier, sorting out whose umbrella was whose, or figuring out who had left his phone in the locker room. You could tell, at a glance, to whom something belonged.

Those days were gone, of course. But the colors, it seemed, remained the same.

The two of them approached the hotel. As they paused beside the entrance to shake out their umbrellas, the doorman greeted Akashi with a low bow. Akashi gave the man an amiable sort of nod, as though he expected it, then ushered Midorima into the lobby, which was richly furnished in a classic style. It was a hotel frequented by celebrities and politicians, the kind that had a long history to it.

“You never mentioned what we would be doing here,” Midorima said, glancing around. Akashi just smiled, with that enigmatic look of his, and led the way to the elevator. Once they were inside, he pushed a button for one of the highest floors. Midorima saw it was labeled with the name of one of the hotel’s restaurants.

“Isn’t it a little early for dinner?” he said.

“For dinner, yes.” Akashi’s eyes shone with amusement. “But not for tea.”

Midorima raised his eyebrows. All at once, he understood. He and Akashi had a history of drinking tea, back in their days at Teikou. It began casually, as a matter of convenience, to keep them both alert while they discussed plans for the basketball team.

Gradually, though, Midorima learned that Akashi had a special fondness for tea—as well as a great deal of knowledge about it. (A surprising amount, even considering Akashi was so well educated about so many things.) And over time, Midorima found his own appreciation for the beverage growing, as Akashi shared that expertise with him.

An invitation to tea, then, was something he should have expected, when Akashi asked if he was free on the Sunday before his birthday.

“I know you don’t favor the Western approach,” Akashi added, as the elevator door opened again. “But I wanted to share this with you. I think you’ll find it pleasant.”

As it turned out, this was an understatement. Akashi had a gift for that, Midorima knew, almost as much as he did for overstatement. (Though really, the other Akashi was the one with a tendency to exaggerate, and to speak in superlatives.) Midorima was familiar with the English custom of afternoon tea, but he had never experienced a full tea service before. Certainly not like this one.

The restaurant was impeccably elegant, of course, with plush couches and gilded tables, all surrounded by windows that revealed a sweeping view of the Tokyo cityscape. A tuxedo-clad waiter served them a propriety blend of tea, in Wedgwood china cups. The tea was accompanied by a tiered silver tray, heaped with sandwiches, cheeses, tarts, cakes, and scones. To his surprise, Midorima enjoyed all of it, even though he tended to be picky about sweet things. The astringency of the black tea enhanced the flavors, he noticed. Normally, he preferred other types of tea, but he had to admit that in this case, it suited the food better.

He wasn’t entirely sure about the scones, though. Not until Akashi showed him how they were supposed to be eaten.

“You can’t eat them plain,” Akashi said, splitting a scone in half with a knife. He then slathered on what looked like butter, though it was paler and creamier, followed by a thick layer of jam. “Well, I suppose you could, but then you’d be missing the point. It gets messy, but it’s worth the trouble.”

“Is that butter?”

“Clotted cream,” Akashi said. “Better, in this case. Here.”

He held up his plate. Midorima took one half of the offered scone, then took a bite. The mixture that met his tongue was sweet and creamy, with a juicy tang from the currant jam, all layered atop the buttery spongy texture of the scone.

“You’re right,” Midorima said, eyeing it with some surprise. “That is better.”

Akashi smiled, and set down the tray of jam and cream between them. They finished off the halves of the first scone, and prepared two more. And then two more. And if it did turn out to be messy, and they wound up having to wipe their mouths repeatedly with their napkins, and licking their jam-tipped fingers more than once, and even laughing a little with each other about their less-than-perfect table manners, well…

Midorima couldn’t honestly say he minded.

He lost track of time, as their conversation wandered from topic to topic. They watched the rain through the windows, and talked about the weather, and about basketball—and things that weren’t basketball. Schoolwork, shougi, the trials of following Oha Asa, the trials of being student council president. How Midorima’s sister was doing, and when Akashi last had an opportunity to go horseback riding, and what summer was like in Kyoto, now that the Gion festival had begun.

“You’ve changed, you know,” Akashi said at one point, rather suddenly. Midorima gave him an inquisitive look. Akashi chuckled. He stirred his tea, and his expression softened in a strange way. “That must sound humorous, coming from me.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Though I don’t feel any different.” Midorima hesitated. “None of this feels very different, as a matter of fact. Not to me.”

Akashi blinked, then smiled again. And Midorima couldn’t quite decide, if that smile was familiar or something new. Perhaps a little of both. (Though even during their brightest days at Teikou, Midorima couldn’t recall Akashi smiling this easily.)

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Akashi said, in a warm voice. “I’m glad.”

He tapped his spoon on the gilded rim of his teacup, then set it aside. They were both silent for a long moment, sipping their tea.

“I should thank you,” Akashi added, catching Midorima’s attention again. “It puts me at ease, to speak with you like this again.”

His eyes gleamed. There had always been a degree of mystery to Akashi, the sense that so much was going on inside his head, things Midorima would never know or understand. But somehow, he grasped the thought behind this particular look all too well. Perhaps because Midorima had thought the same thing, many times:

_I was afraid we wouldn’t._

“Thank you for the invitation,” was all he said out loud.

Akashi nodded. He seemed to understand, both the words Midorima had spoken, and the ones he hadn’t.

“It was my pleasure,” he said. “I hope we’ll do this again. I’d like to tell you something about this place, one day.”

He gazed around the restaurant, the arrangement of sofas and tables, the long windows, and the gilt-framed mirrors on the walls. Midorima had the distinct impression he was remembering something. Or maybe many things, at once.

“I’d like to hear it,” Midorima said. He was about to add that Akashi could tell him whenever he liked, when Akashi’s expression changed again, becoming more alert. He retrieved the leather satchel bag he brought, and rifled through it. He took out an elegantly wrapped box, which he held out to Midorima with both hands.

“You didn’t need to buy me a gift,” Midorima said. He added, in a way that was polite in Japanese, “I can’t accept it.”

“Please, take it,” Akashi insisted, in the way that was equally polite.

Midorima did take it, eventually, receiving it with both hands. Admittedly, he did have a few genuine misgivings—he could remember more than once when Akashi really _had_ been too generous with gifts, from his perspective—but at the same time, he had to admit he was curious.

At Akashi’s insistence, he unwrapped the box, then opened it to find a tea canister with a double lid. On the canister was a decorative gold label, with a note in Akashi’s flawless handwriting: _“Tieguanyin, First Spring Picking.”_ This was accompanied by the year, a town in Anxi, China, and a person’s name, likely of the master who had overseen the tea’s production.

“It’s my favorite from this year’s harvest,” Akashi said. “The first time I sampled it, I immediately thought of you, and I knew you needed to try it.”

Midorima didn’t know what to say. Tieguanyin was one of the teas he liked best—a Chinese oolong with a long and storied history. He remembered so many evenings in the spring and summer at Teikou, when they had sampled oolong teas like this. Greener oolongs were delicate, perishable. The earliest spring harvests could be expensive, especially those grown at the highest elevations. Demand often drove the price up.

“You shouldn’t have,” he managed. Akashi just shrugged a little.

“That should be fresh for a few more months,” he said, with a nod to the canister. “It’s been in cold storage until today. If you like it, I would be happy to bring more, the next time we see each other. I hope you enjoy it.”

Midorima fingered the edge of the label. He really should protest more, he thought. Somehow, though, he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. He adjusted his glasses.

“I’m sure I will,” he said.

They shared a smile, one that said more than words ever could.

“Happy birthday, my friend,” Akashi said.

* * *

Midorima smiled at the memory. He gazed down at the canister in his hand. He was strongly tempted to try this tea, and it did have a short shelf life. But he couldn’t help feeling like it would be better to save it, at least for a few weeks. For a special occasion, something truly auspicious. He replaced it next to the other tins, fully intending to choose another tea to prepare.

In the end, though, he took out the same one again. It was his seventeenth birthday. And Tanabata, the seventh day of the seventh month. Really, what was more auspicious than that?

He set the tin on the counter, followed by the glass pitcher and a clay teapot, one specifically reserved for oolongs like this one. As he retrieved two of the small tea cups, he paused. Behind them, tucked in the very back of the cabinet, was a cluster of pottery shards. They shone dimly in the light from the kitchen.

Those shards were all that was left, of the sixth tea cup in the set.

Usually, it was something Midorima tried not to think about, when he was preparing tea. Tonight, though, he allowed himself to remember. He recalled when Akashi gave him the set of cups for his fourteenth birthday, and how Midorima tried to insist the gift was much too extravagant, but Akashi asked him to please accept it anyway, as usual. So Midorima had accepted it, all the while knowing it really _was_ too extravagant, that these cups were valuable antiques, and better suited to the Akashi family teaware collection than his kitchen shelf.

For that reason, he had taken great care with the cups, whenever he used them. But then about a year later, a rainy night came when Midorima was extremely tired, and frustrated, and felt as though he hadn’t spoken to a human being who wasn’t a family member in weeks. (Answering questions in class and taking what amounted to orders in the basketball club did not count.) And the truth was, he hadn’t spoken to anyone because he didn’t _want_ to, because he was angry, and because he already knew no one cared. He had no idea if anyone at school had ever cared, honestly. Because at this point, he doubted he’d ever had any real friends at Teikou.

Which was a ridiculous thing to mope about, he told himself. He didn’t need friends to accomplish his goals. Friends just got in the way. Because they never lived up to his expectations, and it was pointless to hold others to his impossibly high standards. (And even if they did live up to his standards, they would still change, in ways that Midorima had never anticipated. Ways that, to be perfectly honest, frightened him.)

No, it was better to do everything on his own.

This was something of the train of thought that was swirling around in his brain, when he decided a cup of tea might be a welcome distraction. So he went down to the kitchen and took out a roasted oolong, one he’d been saving for several months. He opened the tin to smell the leaves. As he did, though, the memories came rushing back with piercing clarity, of other times he drank this tea, and the things Akashi had said about it, and the things he said. And Midorima tried to remember how long had it been, since the two of them drank tea together. But he couldn’t remember. Because he was sure that Akashi had been a certain way in those memories, but now it was like that person didn’t exist.

And somewhere in all of that, Midorima had taken out one of the tea cups, and it dropped and shattered on the kitchen floor.

At that point, he might have possibly done something stupid—like kick at the shards in frustration, until one of them cut his foot. (He had no idea how that happened; he was wearing socks and slippers at the time.) Because really, what an idiotic thing to do. In just one moment of carelessness, he had broken something that was whole and complete before. And now there were only five cups, when there should have been six. Five cups, and a mess of shards that couldn’t be put together again.

It was unfixable. Midorima hated that.

He couldn’t find a replacement for it, either. He didn’t know where Akashi had purchased the original set. And the idea of asking him—that had been completely unthinkable, at the time.

Because talking to the new Akashi was just a painful reminder, of the friend he once had. Or thought he had… He didn’t honestly know anymore.

Now, two years later, the memory no longer hurt the way it once did. But even though they were friends again, Midorima couldn’t imagine trying to tell Akashi about the broken cup. He still felt foolish about it. He supposed Akashi might never find out… He hoped not. Though he did like to think that Akashi would visit his home again someday, and have tea with him. Maybe even more often than they had in middle school. He’d just have to avoid mentioning the cup.

In any case, it didn’t matter tonight, when he only had one guest coming.

He returned his attention to preparing the tea. Bringing the water to a boil—bottled spring water, which he didn’t always use, but he couldn’t imagine doing otherwise in this case—and filling the teapot with the right amount of leaves. It felt unthinkably extravagant, dropping spoonful after spoonful of the twisted green leaves into the mineral-caked pot.

At the same time, though, it was the most respectful way to prepare a tea like this. Midorima still recalled the first time Akashi showed him how to do it, after he had expressed a growing preference for oolong. He had been astonished, just how much leaf was used in the process—and then astonished, by how different it tasted. Now it was hard to imagine drinking a good oolong any other way.

He had just discarded the first rinse, and started boiling a second batch of water, when the doorbell rang. Takao stood on the front steps, with the usual ridiculous grin on his face. He wasn’t wearing his uniform, but he did have his school bag, for who-knew-what reason. He shifted the strap on his shoulder and waved.

“Hey, Shin-chan. So where’s this fabulously lucky tea I’m having?”

Midorima was tempted to tell him that it _was_ a fortunate tea, in many ways, but he thought better of it. That was exactly the sort of thing that either went over Takao’s head, or just resulted in a prolonged session of teasing.

“I was about to finish preparing it,” he said, leading the way to the kitchen. He gestured for Takao to sit down at the table, then checked the water. He allowed it to cool to the ideal temperature, then poured it over the leaves. Instantly, a sweet scent wafted through the air, lightly floral with a touch of honey. He waited only seconds before he poured the tea into the pitcher, leaving the unfurled leaves trapped in the pot. The newly steeped tea was pale, a faint yellow-green.

“Wow,” Takao said, watching him. “Uh, this is all pretty elaborate. I didn’t know you were, like, a certified tea master or whatever.”

Midorima gave him a look. “I’m not. I’m an amateur at best. And very much uncertified.”

Takao laughed. “If you say so.”

Midorima poured the tea into the two cups. Then he handed one to Takao, and sat down with the other. He waited a few moments for the liquor to cool, taking care to breathe in the scent. Even with his limited knowledge, he could already tell this was a high-quality Tieguanyin, and unusually fresh for the time of year.

He took a sip, and his whole body relaxed in a sigh. He wished Akashi were there to describe it. He was so much better at coming up with words to express the different notes in a tea. The overall flavor was light and creamy, with a floral note typical of oolong. Lilac, maybe. (Akashi had made that comparison before, and now Midorima had a hard time thinking past it when he drank Tieguanyin.) The texture was as smooth as satin; it glided over his tongue. Meanwhile, Takao had just taken his first sip.

“Holy crap,” he said, with a decidedly bizarre look on his face.

Midorima frowned. “What?”

“What the hell is this?” Takao gaped at his cup. “It’s like, the nectar of the gods or something. Seriously, this is _way_ better than the stuff they sell in vending machines. I’ll be honest, I always thought the oolong ones sort of sucked.”

Midorima stared at him. He had never, in a million years, thought that Takao would actually appreciate the tea like a normal person. Before he entirely knew what was happening, he was snorting with laughter.

Now Takao was the one staring. “Uh, Shin-chan?”

“I’m sorry.” Midorima pressed his hand to his mouth. “Just, the look on your face.” He coughed. “Anyway, yes. I used to think the same thing. About oolong.”

“Yeah? What changed your mind?”

“A friend,” Midorima said, with a slight smile. “Also it helps when you drink something other than the bottled variety.”

“Ooh, tea snob.”

“Maybe.” Midorima shrugged, trying to adopt a posture of lofty superiority. He tipped his nose toward the ceiling for good measure. “I think it’s better than being an undiscriminating peasant.”

As he expected, this just make Takao laugh even more. “Well, anyway, it’s good.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Midorima said, sincerely.

He took another sip, and let the scent and flavor of the tea wash over his senses. It felt like he was drinking spring, airy and green and new. He let himself imagine the sort of things Akashi might say about it, things he might say in person in the very near future.

_“There’s a strong note of apple in the scent… The floral element strikes me as very light in this steeping. Like chrysanthemum, perhaps… Have you noticed how smooth it is, not even a hint of dryness? That’s why these early spring pickings are so prized. The aftertaste is especially fine… Lilacs and cream.”_

Once he had finished his cup, Midorima immediately began preparing another steeping. Takao seemed confused by this, but Midorima just smirked and told him that if he didn’t drink a minimum of five cups, he’d be pulling the rearcar without question for a month, because it was a waste of good tea to do otherwise. And Takao whined, of course, but he relented in the end.

“Hey, is it just me, or does this one taste even better?” he said on his third cup.

Midorima gave him a knowing look. “Like I said. It’s a waste to do otherwise.”

“Huh,” Takao said, and kept drinking.

He kept talking too, drifting from subject to subject, pausing to let Midorima have his say. And Midorima found himself relaxing, in a way he rarely did. His thoughts wandered, from the taste of the tea to the memories it brought to mind. Somewhere between the fourth and fifth steepings, Midorima lost himself in thought completely, long enough that Takao noticed.

“Hey, what’s up?” His eyes twinkled. “You haven’t insulted my intelligence in like, fifteen whole minutes.”

Midorima snorted.

“It’s nothing.” He paused, then added, “You would laugh, if I told you.”

Takao’s grin widened, and he took another sip of tea. “Probably.”

Midorima stared down at his cup, at the pale liquid that shimmered in the light.

“It was just about fate, that’s all,” he said.

Takao rested his chin in his hand. “Yeah?”

“Well, you already know I believe in it.” Midorima hesitated. “But a few years ago, I started to wonder if there was such a thing as having a good destiny, or a bad one.”

He traced his finger around the glazed rim of the cup, and let himself remember.

“Maybe it sounds ridiculous to other people, but we—my old teammates and I—used to talk about the idea of fate,” he said. “We had several arguments about it. Personally, I always believed our meeting at Teikou wasn’t a coincidence.”

“Well, it must have been pretty freaky,” Takao remarked. “I mean, with the matching color names and all.”

Midorima raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “That was something of the crux of the argument, in fact.”

He still recalled those discussions, though they’d numbered less than a dozen in total. Aomine had been angry about the whole idea, and Kuroko generally silent, and Murasakibara apathetic. Kise had most often shrugged, offering nothing in the way of a firm opinion, as usual. But Akashi held a very firm opinion on the topic. In fact, Midorima most vividly recalled a conversation they had alone, on a rainy day before their second National tournament.

_“Can I tell you something?” Akashi said, leaning forward in his chair. “Our teammates wouldn’t want to hear this. But it appears you and I have a similar view of the subject. About whether or not fate was responsible for our meeting._

_“I believe we’re destined for something great, Midorima. Something extraordinary, that will change the world. I believe it’s more than fate… It’s a miracle. That’s why I don’t mind, when those reporters call us what they do. I sensed it from the start.”_

Midorima had, on that day, agreed with every word Akashi said. He couldn’t help it, somehow. Akashi spoke with such conviction, in a hushed sort of voice, as though he had been thinking about this for a while. And Midorima had sensed something else behind the words, something he hadn’t expected from Akashi at all.

Joy. As though the idea was a great comfort to him.

Maybe that was why Midorima had believed it. Because he wanted it to be true. For Akashi’s sake, if no one else’s.

Then a few months later, everything had changed. And nothing seemed especially miraculous to Midorima anymore. He even asked Akashi once—the other Akashi—if he remembered that conversation.

_“Of course I do, Shintarou. We’ll still be a miracle someday. I’ll see to that. And I will be the greatest of us all.”_

Midorima set down his teacup.

“In any case, I never doubted it was fate,” he added in a quiet voice. “But I did doubt the outcome would be pleasant. A year ago, I had all but convinced myself that our connection was—well, it was unfortunate. That we were all fated to be enemies. And that nothing could be done about it.”

There was a pause. Midorima cleared his throat, and met Takao’s eyes.

“Anyway, I was just thinking about how my view on that has changed,” he said. “Since going to Shuutoku, and the experiences I’ve had since then.”

He smiled at the thought. It had been a good year. A very good year, even if none of it had turned out the way he expected.

“I am a fortunate person,” he said, seriously. “In many ways.”

Takao blinked, then blinked again. He leaned forward in his chair.

“Shin-chan…” He lowered his voice. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Takao.” Midorima glared at him.

“No, I’m serious! Are you running a temperature? We might have to admit you to the hospital. Because I could’ve sworn you just said something _nice_. About pretty much everybody you know. Like, about me. About that Kuroko guy, even.”

Midorima instantly bristled. “I didn’t say anything nice about him!”

“Uh-huh, sure. I should text him that thing you just said.” Takao snickered and flipped open his phone. “Sounds like the kind of sappy thing he’d want to record for posterity. _‘Hey, so Shin-chan would like to thank you, for helping all you rainbow nerds go back to being bestest friends forever. It makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. Next time you see him, you should give him a big ol’ hug.’_ ”

Midorima leapt out of his seat. “If you dare—!”

Takao danced out of his reach, even as he made a grab for his phone. Midorima chased after him, Takao laughing and pushing buttons all the while, as they raced around the kitchen table. At last Midorima lunged and grabbed his elbow. In seconds he had Takao in a headlock. He snatched the phone and pocketed it, then twisted Takao’s arm around his back.

“Argh, no, stop!” Takao squirmed. “Peace offering, peace offering!”

“What in the hell are you talking about?” Midorima growled, still twisting his arm.

“Please? It’s important. I can’t show you if you rip my arms off.”

“What about if I only rip off one?” Midorima muttered, but he eventually loosened his hold and let Takao escape.

Takao scurried over to his chair, where his school bag was. He unzipped it and took out a plain cardboard box. He approached Midorima again, with an oddly sheepish look on his face.

“Okay, so the thing is, I’m not actually supposed to give this to you yet.” Takao held the box in both hands, which Midorima thought was strangely formal for him. Then again, it seemed more like he was treating it like something fragile. “But I kind of couldn’t wait, so… You’ll still have to act surprised later. Deal?”

Midorima raised his brows, but he nodded.

Takao handed him the box. It was blank, with no label or company logo of any kind. Hesitantly, Midorima tugged open the lid, and pushed aside a layer of tissue paper. There, nestled in the box, was a small glazed cup. Exactly like the tea cups in his set.

Exactly like the sixth one, the one that had broken.

His mouth dropped open. He forced himself to pick it up, to check the artisan’s signature. It was exactly the same as the ones he owned. Even the coloring was eerily similar, despite the fact that cups like this were individually made.

“Where—how did you—?” he stammered. “But you couldn’t possibly have known—”

He gaped at Takao. It didn’t make any sense. He had never said a word about the broken cup to him. He had never even made tea for him, not before tonight.

“Yup, I’m psychic, Shin-chan. I’ve been waiting all this time, to tell you my secret,” Takao said, in a dark voice. Then he laughed, like always. “Nah. Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s nothing like that. Remember the day your lucky item was a teapot? You had me grab one of yours before we left here. That’s when I saw the broken cup in the cabinet.”

“That was months ago,” Midorima said, still staring.

“Yeah, well, I saw this one in an antique shop, while I was hunting for more of your crazy bullshit. And I thought it looked weirdly familiar. So I looked in your cabinet again, when you weren’t paying attention… And it was the same kind. I don’t know, I just had a feeling you might want it. So I figured I’d buy it for you.”

“But this is an expensive antique.”

“You’re telling me.” Takao scratched the back of his head. “I think I got a good deal on it, but uh… That’s why I wasn’t supposed to give it to you today. Because I kind of had to take up a collection for it? Anyway, we’re all gonna give it to you on Saturday. Like I said, you have to act surprised when you see it again.”

“Who’s ‘we,’ exactly? The team, or—”

Takao winked up at him. “Just people.”

Midorima couldn’t explain how he knew, but he sensed this cryptic reply referred to more than just a few people. Who were all going to surprise him with some sort of gathering on Saturday, apparently. Only a year ago, the idea would have filled him with dread. Somehow, though, he didn’t feel that way now.

He looked back down at the cup. For whatever reason, a laugh twitched in his throat. Before he knew it, he was laughing out loud, in a way he almost never did. And he knew Takao was staring at him, but he couldn’t help it. Because once again, he had assumed something was unfixable, when it wasn’t.

The cup hadn’t magically repaired itself. But even so, the set was complete again. And he hadn’t done a thing.

_Why do I always do that? I limit fate, and limit myself._

_After all, I should know by now… My fortune doesn’t depend on my actions alone._

He thought of Takao, who had bothered to notice a few broken pottery shards in his cabinet, and purchased a replacement for him, just on a hunch. And Akashi, who had invited him to tea after all this time, to give him a gift he thought he would enjoy. And the people he would see on Saturday (and he could guess who many of them were), who had pooled their money to buy him a present. And the dozens of impossible things he had seen, and done, in the past year.

_After all, I wasn’t meant to be alone._

He shook his head, still laughing. He closed the box, and tucked it under one arm. With the other one, he pulled Takao into a hug. “Thank you.”

For a moment, Takao was oddly stiff, like he was worried Midorima had lost his mind. (Which was probably the case, but at the moment, Midorima didn’t care.) In the end, though, he just chuckled and hugged him back.

“Happy birthday, Shin-chan,” he said.

Midorima believed in fate. He believed in himself. But he had seen things break, things he knew for a fact could never be repaired. He had seen people break too, in strange and terrifying ways. He had said goodbyes he thought were permanent. Goodbyes he assumed he _wanted_ to be permanent. He had made enemies, and drawn lines in the sand, and watched as former teammates drew lines of their own.

So he had come to believe that some things were beyond repair. People didn’t just appear when you needed them. Friends didn’t return, not after they had vanished without a trace. Everyone would let you down. Sometimes, your destiny was a bad one, and just because you used to drink tea with a certain person, didn’t mean you would ever get the chance to do it again. No one would accept you, if you showed them what you were really like from the start.

And maybe all of that was true, for some people. But Midorima’s life would never be so limited.

Because there were no limits, with miracles.


End file.
